Fourteen （B） – Harrison
FOURTEEN (B)
HARRISON
A few days later
I haven’t spent the night in my penthouse in three nights.
Each morning, I slip in early, walk Eliza through her much-needed lessons, then drive to The Four Seasons to lie in their not-as-impressive top suite.
It’s not ideal, but it’s better than waking up one morning and realizing I’ve crossed a line I can’t come back from. And despite her roughness around the edges, she’s incredibly stunning.
Pulling into my parking spot for the fourth time in this routine, I take the elevator upstairs and quietly unlock the front door.
The apartment is still—no footsteps, no humming, no sounds from the guest room.
Okay, I’m safe...
I head for the shower and let the water run over me for at least an hour.
Steam clings to my skin as I step out, sling a towel around my waist, and rub a hand through my hair while walking toward the kitchen?—
Only to find the object of my avoidance already standing there.
She’s barefoot, wearing one of my T-shirts and briefs, sipping coffee from one of my mugs.
“What was the point of me rushing to get your luggage if you were going to keep wearing my clothes?”
“I like the way the fabric feels against my skin,” she says. “Would you like me to give them back?”
“No, I would?—”
I catch her gaze lowering to the towel around my waist.
“Want me to take it off?”
“No.” She blushes. “I’d actually prefer it if you wore clothes around the house.”
“It’s my house.”
“That you’re avoiding every night for whatever strange reason.” She shrugs, confirming that she’s noticed. “I think keeping your clothes on would be showing your guest good manners.”
“My guest is still insulting me over morning coffee,” I say. “I don’t think she’s in any position to make any etiquette requests.”
“Okay fine then.”
She grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, revealing a black bra.
“I’ll walk around half-naked, too.”
“That’d be more than fine with me.”
“Let me call my brother and see if that’s fine with him, too.”
“You win.” I don’t even want to continue that line of conversation. “I’ll wear clothes when I come here.”
“Is there a reason why you’re leaving every night?”
“Yes. Does it bother you having the penthouse to yourself?”
The look on her face makes me regret asking that question.
“I’ll stay here, Eliza.”
“Thank you.”
I make myself a cup of coffee and retreat to the bathroom.
This time, the shower is cold as ice.
The rest of these weeks need to hurry up and fly by.
Later that night
Plop... Plop... Plop!
At this rate, Eliza might break the all-time face-plant record before her first week is over.
I’m starting to think I might need to revise my original promise to Jackson—because this shit is already ten times harder than I thought.
“What exactly are you supposed to be teaching your new friend, Mr. Jones?” Harold whispers from the living room, handing me another bag of designer heels.
“I honestly don’t know…”
PLOP!
Eliza goes down again—but this time, she doesn’t immediately spring back up.
“Yeah…” Harold pats my shoulder. “Maybe you should find tennis shoes that look like heels instead...”
“That’s what she’s wearing right now.”
“Oh…” His eyes widen slightly. He leaves the room without another word, abandoning me completely.
“You’re not going to help me up?” Eliza groans from the floor. “I could be dying.”
“I honestly think you’d still find a way to talk if you were dying…”
“I can’t feel my thighs.”
I smile and walk over, slipping my hands around her waist and lifting her with ease before carrying her to the couch.
There’s a solid knot forming on her forehead, so I head to the kitchen, grab a couple of ice packs, and gently position one just above her eyebrows.
Her eyes start to drift shut, and for a moment I consider calling my doctor?—
But then she blinks them wide open.
“Can I ask you something?” she murmurs.
“No.” I shake my head. “Get some rest.”
“One question won’t make that big of a difference.”
“What is it?”
“Why are you still shirtless?” She narrows her eyes. “You promised this morning.”
“I did not promise.” I grin, grabbing the shirt from the cushion beside her. “I took it off after you spilled tea on me, remember?”
“Right... I have another question.”
“I’m out of answers.”
“If I dressed more like your ex and didn’t have a deep accent,” she continues, “do you think you’d even need to help me at all?”
I blink. I wasn’t expecting that.
“I don’t think we should use my ex as a template for anything,” I say. “And between you and me—because I’ll deny it like hell if you ever repeat this—the only thing you need to work on is your smart-ass mouth in my book. The rest of you is pretty much perfect.”
Her cheeks flush pink.
“Can you call my brother and tell him that so I can go home?”
“I said in my book .” I prop her legs onto a pillow and place the second ice pack on her left knee. “The people you need to impress are an entirely different story.”
“Why did you break up with Kristin?”
“Why are you still talking?”
“My last question. Sorry…”
“We couldn’t be real around each other,” I say. “She was trying to be someone she thought I’d want, and I was too busy proving I couldn’t survive past my usual six-month limit.”
She opens her mouth to respond, but I press a finger lightly against her lips.
“Save it for your vocabulary lessons,” I say quietly. “You’ll need it…”